Miracles Multiplying

MIRACLE MULTIPLYING
ARC © 12/5/17
Dedicated to Stuart and Jessie Shepherd

I was in my early twenties, five plus decades ago, when I read an extraordinary story of an Alabama black postal worker husband/wife team who were `found out’.
For years, strangers were receiving mysterious anonymous donations that came at the `exact right time’. There seemed to be no close correlation between the parties, but it went on for years and years.
Someone discovered their identity and notified the papers. There was an amazing human-interest feature. The couple had no children, owned a small house, and yet always put in for overtime whenever available.
They would watch the papers and listen attentively to others for `tales of woe’. Then, they would spring into action. They did not even own a TV.
To me, it was the ultimate spiritual rendition of `loving your neighbor as self’. I so admired them.
Soon after, I adopted my own `caring/sharing economic program’ under a nonprofit I founded at the birth of my second child in 1968. I could not do what they did, but I came up with my own spiritual version. $3.00 donation prayed over ala the miracle of the loaves and fishes via the Trinity.
I have many testimonies, but my favorite is when I read in the paper how a woman who worked nearby at a mental facility wanted to plant trees for the wards so that there could be scout campground outings. I immediately mailed a $3.00 check.
I received an excited call within a few days. Her words: It is a sign! Your last name is Kilmer (children’s father’s surname) and the poet Joyce Kilmer wrote the famous poem: Trees.
She told me she was calling the newspapers. They featured the story. Donations poured in. She got her trees.
There is another poignant note to this testimony. My mother’s favorite poem was TREES…and she could recite it.
I was always mesmerized by the first stanza…
Trees by Joyce Kilmer | Poetry Magazine - Poetry Foundation
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/12744/trees
Trees. By Joyce Kilmer.
I think that I shall never see. A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest.
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;.
A tree that looks at God all day,.
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;.
A tree that may in Summer wear.
A nest of robins in her hair;.
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;…
This talent mesmerized me for outside of memorizing the Our Father, Hail
Mary, Glory Be…and the Pledge, my mind refused to stay in alignment…always
soared like a butterfly to unknown horizons.
There was another touching recollection that pertains particularly to this.
Polio cripped my mother at age seven. Her elder sister used to carry
her on her back for a mile walk to school until she could do it no further after the
seventh grade.
Mom used to clap her hands in delight when daddy danced with me usually on the rare Sunday morning he was home and the Italian music was playing. Her words enthusiastically exclaiming: be my feet for me, dance, dance, dance.
I felt in love with dancing all my life and poetry.
To my absolute amazement, after reading a poem that my father-in-law, William Kilmer, wrote for the 1970 holidays, I felt `spiritually’ guided to give it a try.
It seems that out of nowhere, poetic techniques were rhythmically dancing in my head choreographed by maestros.
I was dazzled and awed.
The date is coming up soon for horrific death calling incident in my life. December 15, 2005, while opening up another homeless refuge in a new area, I was assaulted and stabbed 42 times. The details are horrific. I was blinded in my right eye, left ear severed, face ripped to shreds. When I was rushed to the hospital, the initial prognosis was: we cannot save her. My Mon Ami said with authority to the emergency room surgeons: “Go back in, she taught me about God. I just told HIM he could have twenty years of my life and give them to her.” They were so astonished, they did; but came out sometime after saying: “We have to take her arms.” Once more , he instructed: “Are you crazy? Why then, save her? Go back. She’s Sicilian and talks with her hands; she’s a writer.” They did, and two months later, I came out of the coma. He and children were told that I would need convalescent care. They responded: “She needs love.”
And, thus here I am.
Eleven years later.
The final tour de force of this epistle is the first year, 2006, was surreal. I was in a Nooesphere world of shock. The writing slowly came back, but the poetic rhythm and rhyme was vulnerable and weak.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noosphere
I tried to do a beginning line dance class and broke down in tears. I could not dance.
The instructor, Stuart Shepherd, was sent by the divine. He looked me in the eye and promised he would be there for me when I thought I was ready to try.
The beginning part of 2017, I was ready. He and his blessed wife, Jessie, were teaching Beginning, Intermediate, and Advanced Classes. I enrolled in the Beginning one offered through the local Adult Education campus.
Their patience was phenomenal. They recognized that a beginner needs to go over and repeatedly until rooted. It is just like a toddler learning their ABC’s. The recurring sing/song builds a firm track.
Maria Montessori was famous notable who introduced `back to the beginning in learning’ for trauma survivors by crossing over in the brain to `new areas’ capable of being developed and or re-educating from `step one’ existing.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Montessori
There are not words to describe the joy of dancing again – feeling the rhythm renews and revivifies body and soul. I hear my mother: dance, dance, dance for me.
The poetry too is blossoming – I am a blessed renascent 76 thanking God second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day.
The economic support stayed symbolically the same, but ARC’s outreach grew and grew.
Countless educational resource publications were made complimentary.
ARC began helping the homeless in the early 1990’s spurred on by local problems showcased in the media. All I could see was my crippled mother and retarded sister `out in the cold’.
I volunteered for a local group that was making sandwiches and assembling hygiene items to pass out. I went out once to get a first-hand look at the problem. It was overwhelming. They were sleeping in cardboard boxes.
I asked the administrator what more could I do? He replied: they desperately need a `resource’ sheet telling them who was helping, where to go, how to proceed.
That was right up my alley. I jumped on it. I began by calling every social service agency, nonprofit, and religious association. I soon had a one-page resource of vital information. I gave him the original and he was ecstatic. Copies were printed and then were included in the hand out lunch/kit.
I continued my research for county I lived in and the one nearby. It became a noteworthy Manuel that an instructor of mine at the local college took on and upgraded it – turned it into a book that was sold to social service agencies and became a legitimate book in libraries. It is still used to this date.
I also still do a one-page resource sheet; carry it with me along with a dollar to hand out to homeless I see on the streets and/or encounter along the way.
When I had a chance to further discuss the problem with the outreach ministry, he said that what was really needed to solve the problem was `Christ Rooms’. And what was that? He said: just like there was no room for the babe at the Inn, a manger was needed. A `Christ Room’ is a manger – a room in another home.
He said…the best were parents with empty nests. They had the skills to re-direct `adult children’ who had gotten off track.
That was me…
Divine synchronicity followed.
A friend called to tell me there was a conference sponsored by the state dedicated to nonprofits that were willing to help the homeless. I went.
They said that a license was not needed when those with problems bonded together to help each other. Nonprofits could receive noninterest loan; homeless receive rental assistance.
After two decades of helping infants to twelve, it was time for me to expand.
I had continued educational pursuits; and had a part-time practice.
I was positive that I was `being called’ to help more.
Within a month, the transition was made; I began…to put it mildly, that expression: a fish out of water applied to me. I was clueless. Within three months, I was in serious trouble: living off loans. The bottom line: state did not come through with the `loans’ because I too lived in the `nonprofit’ home. The rigaramo was impossible to comply with for rental assistance. I was desperate. I took a 3rd mortgage. The home was filled to capacity, but I did not know what I was doing. At one point, I had 13 cents to my name and stamps. I put out an urgent plea to loved ones. Some donations came in. I did not want to call public attention to myself. As far as the neighbors knew, I was still doing licensed childcare. My instincts said: `they’ would object about what they did not know.
What was interesting was, the home was doing well in terms of recovery. Slowly and surely, my `guests’ were teaching me. I was getting a rapid experiential education in the world of AA/NA – recidivism – probation/parole. For most coming in had at one time or another had an encounter with the law.
It truly was heartbreaking to learn `how the system’ could work against someone. For example, there would be `sweeps’ to incarcerate them. So, if an encampment was `under a bridge’, they would be arrested for `trespassing’ or loitering. A favorite: indecency if one went behind a building to urinate.
I began putting the pieces together. At first, I struggled with what I was learning. Jails were a handy modern plantation. Law enforcement and the legal system, jails/prisons, kept people employed. Society was duped into paying higher taxes for `punishment’ methods versus rehabilitative services.
By the third year, there was no doubt I was getting a grip, but the debt was overwhelming. I finally learned how to guide applicants to General Relief which after a complimentary week, would help subsidize at $100.00 a week.
And then it came: a foreclosure notice. I had no choice. I called in the newspapers. There was an extremely positive article. Donations came in. One man, in particular, donated a full month of expenses. One young man came to the door with money in hand. He had been saving for school. He said: You need it more.
My mother called. I told her I was pretty sure I was going to lose it.
She, in her early 80s, had in addition to the daily pain she suffered from her feet, was a diabetic with high blood pressure. She had always been a sick woman. My retarded sister was her constant companion. They were `loving support’ to each other. My youngest brother lived at her home with his family as a caretaker.
Mom passed. My belief: she expressed her will: it was o.k. – time for her to enter her heavenly home. We had always known the medical journals predicted early passing of one as soon as the other went. Sure enough…within the month, my sister was gone.
It was surreal. To this day, almost thirty years later, I still feel shock.
The home was to be divided among the six remaining siblings except Medicare was now going to claim reimbursement for the care it had provided through the years to disabled mother and retarded sister.
Once again, all I can say with testimony that I believe, divine interception. A family lawyer pleaded before the court and each one of us got $20K which saved the home.
Throughout the following years, the reputation grew…the home was really good. I started to rent others and repeat what I was doing. But, it became more than I could handle. It was analogous to being a young parent: vibrant with youth and energy to being a grandparent – which I was.
I started a new plan…subsidizing graduates to go out two by two and initiate their own sober living environment. I began to write: care/share.
And then my city went on a `cease and desist’ for me and my peers.
Some of them had not followed the rigid guidelines imposed in my home: the environment is like a monastery. I consulted an attorney. I was told: although within all legal rights, they could force `court issues’ resulting in me losing equity in my home. Best to sell, and relocate…so, to anguish of mind, heart, soul, I did: losing my home of thirty years.
There is more to this part of the saga, but I am going to save that for another discourse.
I am finishing with a basic `how to’ for those who might want to help and finish with my `birthday letter’ describing assault and up-to-date news.
I have been on a mission sharing `Samaritan Rooms’ and `Birthday Letter’ to nonprofits, religious associations, recovery institutions, homeless projects.
The next goal is to send to the `rich and mighty’ for if they saw how they could make a profit while helping others, it might just be the divine catalyst that could turn our homeless situation around for the good in truly serving our nation.
Daily my prayer list is personalized and generic: covering one/all.
Please, add yours to mine.
I salute the light within you.
God Bless/Shalom.
###